Reboot
by MargretKelley
Summary: Ginny is left with an infant Harry to care for. How will she weather new relationships and how will Harry's life turn out with different parentage?
1. Prologue

**_Author's Note:_  
**

**__**_This story contains mention of suicidal thoughts/ideation. If this will in any way trigger you, please do not read.  
_

* * *

**Prologue**

Harry pushed his hair out of his eyes, critically eyeing the bubbling potion in front of him. Snape was surely rolling around in his grave thinking of how the son of his arch-nemesis was using his carefully edited potions text – yet again. He had been brewing this particular potion for the past fortnight after working tirelessly for the previous two years to straighten out wizarding Britain after the defeat of Voldemort.

Ginny had given him the idea for this potion, actually. He had reached a point in his life where he longed for either a death or a do-over in life. He had assumed that a do-over was impossible, so he had begun settling all his affairs and researching the most efficient, painless poisons in which to kill himself with. However, Ginny had suffered a bad injury in her first season of professional Quidditch, successfully destroying any future career options in that field. She had begun asking him when he wanted to settle down, get married, and have children. Harry truly considered himself too broken to successfully parent any child. He had had horrible experiences living with his relatives growing up, despite the love the Weasleys, Sirius, and Professor Lupin had shown him.

While he was still secretly researching poisons, he came across a de-aging potion in a text. Wanting to make sure it was perfect he planned a visit to Hogwarts and collected the Half-Blood Prince's potions text from the Room of Requirement. Ginny had mentioned wanting children, surely she wouldn't mind raising him a second time around? They both loved each other dearly, he would simply have to get her to love him maternally.

There, that was it. One clockwise stir, douse the flames, and allow the potion to cool. He would write out his letters explaining his actions in the meantime. Ginny was out looking for employment, so he was home alone for the time being.

The potion had finally reached room temperature as he finished addressing the last letter to Ginny. Squinting at the directions, he calculated his precise age and very carefully poured the proper dosage into a beaker, before vanishing the rest of the contents of the cauldron. A pop sounded from upstairs.

"Harry?" Ginny called out, sounding defeated.

He walked up the stairs, enveloping her in a hug and pressing a kiss to her temple. "Hey, Gin," he said softly, feeling light as air now that his plans were completed. "Any luck?" He secretly hoped she hadn't had any more luck than she had in previous days. In his plans, she would be a stay-at-home mother, giving him her undivided attention, living off a generous allowance from the Potter vaults at Gringotts. He had already made the arrangements with the goblins, who didn't even bat an eye at his request.

"No," she sighed, sinking into his embrace. "Flourish and Blotts said that I was too much of a liability since I have restrictions on how much I can lift. Apparently the books there have all been spelled to resist magic until a special counter charm is placed on them to reduce theft."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, giving her a gentle squeeze. "What do you say we go out to dinner tonight?"

"That sounds splendid, actually," Ginny admitted. "I'm too exhausted to cook much of anything and we know that you certainly can't cook to save your life."

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed in mock horror. "That's completely unfair! I can toast a mean English muffin over the fire!"

"I know, dear," Ginny smirked, patting his arm consolingly. "That's a mean English muffin alright… especially the charred bits on it, well, everywhere."

"Fine, you witch," Harry smiled at her. "What do you think you'll have for dinner?"

* * *

Several hours later, they left the Three Broomsticks, content with full bellies and Apparated back to Grimmauld Place. Sitting on the sofa, Harry took a deep breath and put the next part of his plan in action.

"Nightcap?" he offered.

"Mmm, I'd love one," Ginny said, leaning against him, her eyes closed contentedly.

"Alright, you just wait here and I'll go get them," he said, smiling softly.

"Mmm, thank you," she said. They sat in silence, sipping their brandies, staring at the fire. Ginny fell asleep shortly after finishing her drink, and Harry carried her up to bed, before casting a spell on himself to wake at 4 AM and take his final potion that would be his final transformation.

* * *

Ginny groaned. Someone was calling her name and a baby was crying nearby. She thought that she had fallen asleep with Harry at Grimmauld Place last night, but right now she felt like she had been transported to the Burrow.

"I'm coming," she called out sleepily, carefully moving her bad shoulder while rubbing an eye with her good hand.

"Ginny!" Her mother burst into the room. "Have you seen – oh my heavens!"

The wailing grew louder. Her mother quickly crossed the room and scooped up a very small baby off the other side of the bed.

"What the –" Ginny gasped, startled.

"Given the article in the _Daily Prophet_ this morning, I think this is Harry," Molly informed her shakily, plucking the baby off the bed and rocking him in her arms. "Yes, there's that scar, the poor dear."

"What are you talking about?" Ginny asked slowly, a sense of dread overcoming her.

"Here," Molly said, shifting the infant in her arms, fishing a scrap of parchment out of her apron pocket and handing it to Ginny.

_**ADIEU TO BOY-WHO-LIVED**_

_Rita Skeeter_

_The esteemed boy-who-lived sought me out and told me of his woes today. "I've done what I can," the green-eyed young man stated firmly, referring to the number of government reforms, trials, and pardons handed out over the past two years since his defeat of You-Know-Who. "I'm simply too tired to continue on and must focus on fixing, well, me."_

_It's no secret that Potter has had a rough lot in life. His parents were killed when he was a baby, leaving him in the care of abusive Muggle relatives. He fought You-Know-Who several more times upon returning to Wizarding society, fighting slander and government incompetence all the while. Mentors died before his eyes numerous times._

"_I wanted to kill myself," Potter confessed. "Finally, I found a better solution."_

_What is this solution, you may ask, dear readers. It's quite brilliant, actually. Potter plans on taking a de-aging potion early this morning, in the quiet of his own home, and will be raised by his longtime love and girlfriend, Ginevra Weasley._

"_It's a do-over, basically," he explained to me. "I'll be an infant once more, no longer plagued by memories. I'll be raised in a loving home this time around and hopefully I'll be better adjusted to facing the public."_

_Potter stated that he had a few final requests. "I'd very much like for Ginny Weasley to raise me," he began. "I really don't care if she begins seeing other men, I would like a father too at some point. I'd also like for people not to fawn over me this time around. I can't even guarantee that I'll be the same way, this time round. Nature vs. nurture and all that."_

_Surprisingly, at the end of what was a very emotional interview, Potter hugged me, before bidding me farewell. Let us all respect the wishes of this poor young man._

Ginny looked up at her mother, startled. "I wish he had told me something was wrong," she said, tears leaking out of her eyes.

"Shh, shh, there's more, I found this on the night table," Molly told her, rocking the still sobbing baby. "But first, let's feed this little one, alright?"

After depositing a very hungry little Harry in Ginny's arms, Molly went off to the store to purchase a few baby supplies to tide them over and more permanent arrangements were made. Ginny opened the envelope addressed to her that Molly had found on the night table.

_Ginny,_

_I hope you have found me by now (as I should be in bed with you). I can't say that I'm sorry to be doing this to you. I simply couldn't live with the consequences of my life any longer. There was so much that was simply out of control, starting with the night my parents died and I was sent to live with the Dursleys. Voldemort actively trying to kill me for seven years certainly didn't help matters. I still feel immense guilt that I was the one who killed him. I may not have cast the spell, but it was never my intent for him to come out alive. I was cursed, in a way. Not a physical curse (although I did bear the brunt of many of those, as you well know) but I was cursed by Trelawney's prophesy. "Neither can live while the other survives." How cheery is that? Well, I suppose it is Trelawney, after all._

_Anyways, I decided to de-age myself back to infancy. According to the description I will have no memories of my previous life and will re-age accordingly, living a long, full life, if all goes well. Please do not attempt to re-age me – this is my chance to start over healed. Please do this for me, Gin._

_In the hopes of making this easier for you, I've spent the past several weeks preparing the outside world. I have letters at the Ministry that were spelled not to be read until this morning and I did an interview with Skeeter at the _Daily Prophet_ last week, making her swear an Unbreakable Vow not to reveal my story until this morning. The wizarding world, although they might be in shock, should at least understand that this is my choice, not something you did to me. I'm sorry to be putting you at the center of all this._

_Please raise me as your own son. I've already arranged with the goblins for you to have a 2,500 galleon allowance every month until my 21__st__ birthday, with the stipulation that you can remove more in extenuating circumstances. I will have access to my vault upon my 17__th__ birthday, so please remember to give me an allowance until then as well. Grimmauld Place is yours now, keep it, sell it, do whatever you want with it. I won't be expecting it back when I grow up. Kreacher is now your elf as well._

_I love you, Gin, or should I say, Mum. Thank you so much for doing this for me._

_Love,_

_Harry_

"He left me Grimmauld," Ginny remarked absentmindedly, when Molly popped back in with supplies, setting the letter down and stroking Harry's hair. "And I suppose I don't need to keep looking for a job now, I have him to raise and he's left me quite a lot of money."

"He seems to have put quite a bit of thought into this," Molly remarked softly, handing her daughter a warm bottle. "I just wish there was something we could've done to help the poor boy. It appears he helped himself, just in a rather drastic manner."

"I think I'll call him James," Ginny said suddenly. "I know, it's his middle name, but if I'm to raise him, I want to be his _mum_, not raising some idol."

"He'll have to know who he is at some point," Molly reminded her softly.

Ginny sighed. "I know. Legally he'll still be Harry Potter. But otherwise, I want to call him James Weasley. He'll be _my_ little boy, not _the_ Boy-Who-Lived. And I think I will sell this place. If he was that bound and determined to have a clean start, then I'll give him a clean start."

Molly looked at her daughter with tears in her eyes. "My baby girl is all grown up," she said, fishing a tissue out of her pocket to wipe at her eyes. "I'm so very proud of you."

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_

_Ok, I swear this will get better! The next chapter is being written. Please don't hesitate to tell me your thoughts on it. I did get the inspiration for this story from some other story I read awhile back and am unable to find, but Harry deaging back to infancy is the only part of the plot that will be the same. Thank you so much for reading!  
_


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Ginny sat on her bed, flipping through the _Daily Prophet_. It had been two weeks since she had woken up to find Harry replaced with his infant self and luckily, as he expected, the Wizarding world was in shock at his actions, but the accusations against Ginny were few and malicious threats were caught by the Ministry of Magic, so she was still perfectly safe, if not more than a little sleep deprived, frazzled, and furious with the actions of her former beau. This morning wasn't bad though, she thought as she sipped on a cup of tea and browsed through the real estate listings. James was bundled up against her chest this morning in a wrap, dozing contentedly for the moment.

Ginny had had a real estate witch, an old school friend by the name of Emily Winters, come by the previous day to assess Grimmauld Place. The two women had quickly agreed that the townhouse was a bit rundown, which would affect the resale value, but the number of advanced muggle-repelling charms and convenient location would certainly entice a few buyers. Kreacher had been quite busy upon hearing the witches remarks and the main rooms in the dilapidated townhouse gleamed and smelled of furniture polish. Most of the furnishings would be included in the sale – Ginny had no use for a troll-leg umbrella stand, thank you very much – but a few items were being carefully examined and sent to the Burrow for storage until she moved into a new home.

"Mistress?" Kreacher stood in the doorway wringing his hands. "What am I to do about the young Masters Black rooms?"

Ginny groaned. The Blacks had been very fond of – and experts at casting – Permanent Sticking Charms. She was beginning to seriously think that lessons were given out in infancy for producing the best Permanent Sticking Charms known to wizardkind. The worst of these was on Wallaburga Black's portrait in the entrance hall, who screamed ruthlessly at anyone she deemed unworthy, blood traitors, half-bloods, and Muggleborns in particular. Ginny had personally cast a sleeping charm on her last week and stitched the curtains on her portrait together to keep her from waking James when she would pace the halls trying to get him to quiet down in the evenings.

"I don't suppose you know a counter to a permanent sticking charm," Ginny sighed, running one hand through her hair and another along James' back, not really expecting a response.

Kreacher had the grace to look ashamed. "Yes, Mistress," he said quietly, his ears downturned and red.

"You do?" she said, jolting in surprise. James noticed and began to fuss, so she got up and resumed pacing throughout the bedroom.

"Is a house-elf secret, Mistress," Kreacher said fearfully, eyes following her across the room.

"I won't ask you to divulge it," Ginny assured the elderly elf hastily. "Just… take down the personal effects and store them in the cellar for me to go through later."

"Yes, Mistress," Kreacher responded with as low a bow as his arthritic back could manage before hobbling out of the room.

_Well, now_, Ginny thought, _that certainly improved some things_. With the ability to remove some of the items, like pictures of Sirius and James Potter as teenagers, she would now be able to have some valuable keepsakes for James when he grew older and would be better able to "market" the house with fewer personal effects on display. Chewing on the end of her quill, she finally circled two properties that she was interested in viewing.

* * *

The first property simply wasn't right. It almost felt like a smaller Grimmauld Place – before her mum had attacked it. The kitchen curtains quivered suspiciously, nearly confirming Ginny's suspicions that there was a Doxy infestation. The kitchen was covered in grime and the counters had a waxy, uneven texture that made her suspect they were simply covered in the accumulation of grease and other food particles over years and years of neglect. Both she and Emily couldn't get out of there fast enough, the other witch apologizing profusely.

"I'm so sorry," Emily reiterated again. "The write-up for that house was simply lovely, I had no idea it would be so unfit for, well, anyone."

Ginny grimaced at the thought of the house again as she breathed in the clean, cold air. "It's alright," she wearily reassured the young woman. "Let's just go onto the next house."

The next house, if you could call it that, was quite the opposite of the first. It was large, wide, and rather open, with many large windows letting the pale winter sunlight into the rooms. What surprised Ginny the most was the lack of furniture.

"This isn't a new construction, is it?" she asked, admiring the delicate crown moldings.

"Oh, no," Emily said enthusiastically. "It actually used to be one of the Parkinson properties. They mortgaged it during the war to help finance You-Know-Who, but after the outcome of the war, defaulted on the mortgage while they were desperately trying to gather enough money for Mr. Parkinson's legal fees. Since it's a foreclosure, you're actually getting an excellent deal; you won't find another house this fine in your budget."

"I do love it," Ginny said. It wasn't as large as Grimmauld Place, but was seated on about 20 acres of land, had 7 bedrooms, all with adjourning baths, formal and informal dining rooms and parlors, a library, and a nursery near the master bedroom. There was a large pond on the property, which had been well stocked with a variety of fish, a large greenhouse, and a few dozen fruit trees to make up a small orchard. There weren't many sophisticated wards in place, only simple anti-burglary and anti-Apparition wards, but Bill had promised to add more that he saw fit whenever she moved.

As she wandered about the first floor again, an owl suddenly began pecking at one of the windows. Surprised, Emily opened the window and accepted the missive, giving the owl a gentle pat on the head before it flew off again. "Well," she said, the surprise evident in her tone, "it appears that you've had an offer on Grimmauld Place. 300,000 galleons, more than what we were hoping for. They're offering that much if you're able to remove some of the items with Permanent Sticking Charms on them, otherwise the offer drops to 150,000 galleons."

"Luckily Kreacher is adept with undoing Permanent Sticking Charms," Ginny said, a wide grin gracing her features. "I bet they weren't expecting that. Ask them for a list of what they would like removed and tell them I will be more than happy to oblige. How much is this house going for again?"

"215,000 galleons," Rose said excitedly. "You'll have plenty left over to furnish and remodel anything you see fit."

"Very well," Ginny said, rubbing James' back as he began to fuss. She now knew this to be a sign that he was getting hungry and she needed to feed him soon. "I'm going to feed James here and then we're off to Gringotts to see about getting the money to put in an offer."

* * *

"What do you mean?" Ginny demanded angrily.

The goblin folded his long fingers, studying the irate witch in front of him carefully. "It is our duty to protect Mr. Potter's best financial interests. Since Number 12 Grimmauld Place is up for sale, we can certainly give you the necessary galleons to purchase Winding Roses, but the proceeds from the sale of 12 Grimmauld Place will then return to Mr. Potter's accounts."

"Why did you have to do this to me, Harry," Ginny grumbled under her breath. "Fine, I will take the 215,000 galleons to purchase Winding Roses and the proceeds from the sale of 12 Grimmauld Place will go directly to Mr. Potter's Gringotts account."

"Excellent, we are glad you could see reason, Miss Weasley," the goblin stated, running his hands across the leather desk blotter. Ginny got up and stalked out of the bank. Yes, she had intended to put the vast majority of the extra money into the Potter vault, but she had hoped for enough funds to furnish Winding Roses. As she stepped out onto the busy street and began plotting out her next move, a man roughly pushed past her, knocking into her bad shoulder, before continuing on his way. _How rude,_ she thought, grimacing as she rubbed her shoulder.

"Flint!" she heard a sharp voice call out from by her side. "Have you no manners? Is that any way to treat a lady?"

"Dun see no lady," the large man slurred. Ginny wrinkled her nose at the smell of stale alcohol and smoke that emanated from the man and was immediately thankful that she had left James with her mum while she had gone to deal with the goblins.

Instantly Ginny saw a wand flash in her peripheral vision. She spun her head to see the two parties that were fighting over, well, her, apparently. What she saw made her breath catch.

Draco Malfoy, tall and well groomed, was menacingly brandishing his wand at a hulking, unkempt brute who had evidently knocked into Ginny earlier. "Gentlemen, please," she said, gently placing pressure on the top of Malfoy's wand so that he eventually lowered it. "I'm sure it was a mistake and I came to no serious harm. Please let's all be on our way."

The brute, Flint, evidently, seemed to take her words to heart and ambled away from the scene. Malfoy turned to her, scowling.

"No serious harm? I saw the way you grimaced when he tried to plow you down."

"I sustained a bad Quidditch injury last season," she explained simply, picking her way through the crowd towards the Leaky Cauldron so she could Floo back to the Burrow and pick up James. "He just happened to run into my bad shoulder."

"He should've at least apologized," Malfoy huffed, walking alongside of her. "You may be from a family of muggle-lovers, but you're well respected muggle-lovers these days."

"So… he should've apologized _just_ because my family is well-respected nowadays? He would've been excused from apologizing if I were some simple street urchin?"

"Well, street urchins can't determine your social standing," Malfoy said if explaining something to a small child.

"You certainly aren't doing anything to encourage your social standing," Ginny grumbled. The knock to her shoulder had really been harder than she wanted to admit to anyone, let alone Malfoy, and she desperately wanted to retrieve James, go home, and take a pain potion.

"My apologies," Malfoy said, inclining his head. "Are you sure you wouldn't like an analgesic charm for your shoulder?"

Ginny closed her eyes as stabbing pain racked her shoulder again. "That would be lovely," she whispered, standing rigid.

Malfoy pulled out his wand again, twirling it around before prodding her shoulder with it. Instantly the pain vanished and her shoulder felt as good as it had before her accident. Several Healers had told her that no such recovery, even for a short while, was possible.

"That's amazing!" she said, her eyes wide open in amazement as she tested out her shoulder.

Malfoy winced then smirked knowingly. "That bastard really did hit you hard, didn't he? Why didn't you insist on an apology or let me curse him?"

"Because it would be my place to curse him and Harry always thought that we should be setting the higher moral ground and not go around cursing people." The thought of Harry, now her son, James, and how he had flipped her already flipped around life brought tears to her eyes. Trying to distract herself, she decided to ask Malfoy a question. "How is it that you know such strong analgesic charms? Even after my accident, the hospital staff wasn't able to relieve the pain this much."

"It's considered dark magic by Ministry standards," he replied. "Dark magic is dark based on intent though, so never fear."

Ginny looked around them horrified, then yanked on his arm pulling him down a bit so she could hiss in his ear, ignoring his yelp. "What do you mean, _dark magic_? Just what did that spell do?"

"Never you mind," he snapped, gingerly pulling his arm out of her grasp.

"How long does the spell last?" she enquired.

"As long as I see fit," he responded. "Here, allow me," he said, pulling out a pouch of Floo powder from an inner pocket in his cloak.

"Thank you," she responded, grabbing a hefty pinch of the silvery powder, tossing it on the fire of the Leaky Cauldron, and spun out of sight.

Draco Malfoy shook his head in disbelief. He was going to have to send his mother to look after that one.

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_

_Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. _

_I should note that the disgusting counter tops are not a figment of my imagination. Upon the death of my great-grandfather, my father and uncles went to clean his house out and discovered the greyish counter tops started to melt with the application of hot water and attacking them with a putty knife revealed them to actually be brick red. That's a story that has always stuck out in my mind, so I figured I'd incorporate it in here.  
_


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